Luyện nghe bài hát Light Pollution

John A. Hobson was a man
He to loan me books and mic stands
He got me a subscription
To the Review

Listening to records in his
Old songs about the government
love of money not the market
He these fuckers push on you

And freedom yells, it cry
Whatever sells will
But there's no hell you die
So don't so worried

He got a night life, his day job
Pushing papers, swinging
Anything to serve a
Or to occupy some

You gotta earn this somehow
You're good as dead without a account
But it's funny how he has felt down
In unemployment line

With all that trash at his
The pools of in the street
All of that empathy
For the way feeling

worry
Don't
worry

The billboards
The they wave
The anthem's playing
The baseball game was out

And all at
You saw the dust and
Every tiny
Got in his and turned around

Drove out through the crowd and the
Drove out past that center
Drove out past that sickening
Out past that fenced in

And maybe he control
Fucking the radio
But I bet the stars so close
At the end

At the end
At the end
At the end
...